


when you want it

by theflyjar



Category: C-Pop, EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternatively Titled: Cumrade, Art History, College, Communist Art, Creampie, Desk Sex, F/M, Female Wu Yi Fan | Kris, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderswap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Yixing is a Communist Art History Professor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 12:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18499453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyjar/pseuds/theflyjar
Summary: There’s hardly any better sight, for Yixing, than watching arousal ebb through Yifan’s body, even better than any masterful artwork by Michelangelo or Shen Zhou.





	when you want it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hornet394](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornet394/gifts).



Wu Yifan’s greatest physical feature are her legs, and she seems intent on showing them off to the world. Yixing does not blame her. Not at all. If he was in her position, he too would wear the short skirts and shorts that she does. He does not actively look out for Yifan’s legs, but sometimes they’re there and he’s sure she knows what they do to him. Even when he just catches a glance of them, of how toned, long, and lithe they are, he has to blink himself back to sanity.

Those bouts only last a few seconds and he’s sure to berate himself every time. He’s there to teach, there to drive students to sheer boredom with complex texts no one (besides himself) would ever actually willingly read, not ogle at their beautiful, beautiful legs. Even if they are the student he’s found himself in a wholly unethical affair with.

When everyone is sat down, it’s easier to ignore just how perfect Yifan is, as it’s simply yet another sea of students in a classroom or auditorium. More bored faces that are clearly taking Yixing’s class because it’s a requirement for them to pass the year, not because they’re genuinely interested in the political and ideological manifestations within art. However, there are few students more attentive than Yifan, who ties up her hair when she sits down and takes notes almost constantly throughout the class. It’s like she knows what she does to him, that engaging in the subject he loves the most is a surefire way to get him to crawl into bed with her at the next possible opportunity. 

Whilst Yixing doesn’t reveal why, he talks about her with the other professors from his department and, for them, Yifan isn’t quite as erapted by the modules they teach — she makes a few remarks during their seminars, rather than raising her hand each and every time a question is posed to the group, like she does in Yixing’s class. Whilst she may genuinely harbour an interest in political art, he can’t help but feel very aware that she may actually know how most of her comments settle heat in his groin.

When the semester is drawing to a close, as Yixing is organising his schedule to timetable in tutorial sessions so he can help his students with their final assignments, Yifan approaches him faking nervousness, standing by the side of his lectern with her fingers wrung together.

She’s taller than he is, strikingly model-esque with high cheekbones and slightly pouty mouth, but she shrinks herself down slightly, as if apprehensive over what she is about to say.

“Um, sorry, Professor Zhang, for being such a pain, but I can’t make any of the timeslots you’ve offered for a tutorial,” her voice is slightly meek, portraying the perfect image of a girl worried that her professor might respond condescendingly, or even rudely, to what she says. It’s a normal move for a first year, but Yixing knows Yifan and the way her eyes settle on him.

It doesn’t take someone with a PhD to work out what she’s trying to do, and Yixing stops packing his things way to look at her, asking, “Oh, do we need to find another time that you can make?” 

Yixing fishes around in his pocket for his phone and brings it out, opening up the calendar app and directing it towards Yifan. “Everything I have going on is in there already, so just find a time that works best for you and you can have your tutorial then.”

Yifan takes Yixing’s phone and frowns as she flicks through the days, mumbling to herself as she checks the times for things. 

“I can do four in the afternoon, on Wednesday?” She suggests, intonating it in questioning manner, rather than stating it. “I know your office hours end at three on that day, but I have work and basketball practice I need to go to on the other days.”

“I’m usually still in my office until around five or six, so I can definitely put you in at four.” Another student stands behind Yifan, peering around her to make himself known to Yixing. He blinks once, turning back to Yifan,  “Do you know what you’re wanting to do your assignment on?”

“Uh, I was thinking maybe how the removal of the autonomy of the Russian Academy of Arts by the crown in the eighteenth century ultimately led to the  _ Peredvizhniki  _ tendering their support for the Communist movement and the Bolsheviks.”

Without pausing to take the deep breath in that he wants to, Yixing nods along, hoping that she won’t use his almost absurd weakness to Communism-themed flirting against him.

“That’s a good topic, I don’t think anyone else is doing that, but I already have a few ideas on how you can expand your critical argument, rather than simply tracing the chronology.” Yifan seems to startle a little by how  _ Professor Zhang  _ he’s being with her, until she glances over her shoulder and sees her classmate waiting there. “In preparation for our tutorial, maybe see if you can research the differences and similarities between Nicholas I’s control of the academy with Stalin and the  _ Agit-Prop’s _ use of Socialist Realism, and use the Avant-Garde, like the  _ Peredvizhniki  _ and more abstract movements _ ,  _ as the non-mandated alternatives.”

“Can you write that down for me? I don’t have a pen to hand,” Yifan chews her lip as she speaks and Yixing turns around to his laptop, which sits half open on the lectern to stop himself from staring. 

“I’ll write it to you in an email, along with the electronic invite for the tutorial.”

“Thank you, Professor Zhang!” Yixing glances up just in time to see Yifan grin at him, gums showing and eyes slightly closed by how high her cheeks have risen. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, at four.”

“See you then,” Yixing bids her goodbye, giving her a wave as she moves off towards the exit of the lecture hall. She returns it with one of those smiles she always gives him when they part and Yixing has to be waved down by the other student.

“Wei, what can I do for you?”

 

xxx

 

Yifan looks delectable when Yixing calls her into his office after her gentle knock at his door. It’s raining, so she’s donned the tightest pair of jeans Yixing has ever seen her in, and she takes her wet coat off to drape it over the the chair on the other side of Yixing’s desk. Her back is placed on the chair, from which she takes out and notebook and pen.

“Can we actually talk about my essay?” Yifan has her hair up, wrapped up in a bun that has whisps falling from it that curl towards her face. She pulls her seat forward just enough that when Yixing stands up to walk around the desk, to lean on the edge of it, he can curl the stray strands of hair until they’re pinned back behind her ear.

“Sure, what are your thoughts?” Yixing pulls his hand back to cross his arms over his chest.

“Well, I did as you said and researched as much as I could on the academy,  _ Agit-Prop  _ promoted art, and the Avant-Garde, and I’m thinking I could spin this, critically, in an anti-Stalinist way, whilst still keeping to Marxist theory.” Yixing smiles and nods along, encouraging her to talk. “Because, whilst Socialist Realism was the easiest way to communicate using art with the people because it was what they knew, thanks to the maintained status quo of art from the imperial era, there was a degree of educational complacency and hierarchy.

“So the Avant-Garde was relegated because it was more difficult to understand, and rather than educating their comrades, the  _ Agit-Prop  _ pushed a rather dated mode of artistic communication.”

Yixing thinks about what Yifan says before leaning back against the desk, hands planted down flat with his body tilted away from the girl in front of him. “But, do you think Social Realism was necessary in the earlier eras of the Soviet Union? When changes within art, from Realism towards Abstraction, were happening so rapidly across Europe and within Russia itself? Do you think the educational system, and widespread artistic knowledge of the Russian proletariat, could have been expanded that rapidly? Think of Marxist art theory, it’s about disseminating art that serves a purpose for the society, and the  _ Agit-Prop’s _ purpose was to push for the Socialist ideal. Their goal is to communicate with their people in the language they understand, and they did that in graphic visualisations and Socialist Realism.”

Yifan doesn’t respond, and doesn’t look like she’s about to when she suddenly giggles a little, “Yixing, do you realise how hot you look when you start talking about this stuff?”

Crooking one eyebrow upwards, Yixing moves his head to the side, “I thought you wanted to talk about your essay?”

“I take it back, I forget how attractive you are when you’re talking about Communism  _ and  _ art, and I don’t think my brain will be very productive until, well,  _ after…” _

It would be out of character if Yifan wasn’t so forward, meaning Yixing doesn’t even flinch when Yifan stands, instead he sits further back on the edge of the desk until she can stand between his legs. She runs her hands up his thighs and Yixing hears that voice, which always seems to grow quieter and quieter, that he really should not be doing this with one of his students. It’s barely a whisper in the back of his head when he pulls Yifan down to kiss her, curling his hand into her hair and enjoying how her breathing deepens as their mouths open up to one another.

Yixing’s hands skirt up Yifan’s sides, pulling the hoody she’s wearing up over her body and she pulls away for a moment to take it off completely. There’s no shirt or bra to be revealed, only her skin that’s pocked with small moles and freckles, which he kisses immediately. The feeling of his breath and lips against her skin evidently makes her shudder. The room is slightly colder than usual, not warmed by the sun, so gooseflesh rises to pimple her skin and her nipples protrude pertly from her chest. Yixing takes the left nipple in his mouth first, warming it with his lips and tongue, before biting ever so slightly with his teeth. 

_ “Professor,”  _ she sighs, gripping onto his thighs until her nails dig into the fabric of his trousers. 

With a roll of his eyes, Yixing bites a little harder until she yelps, giggling.

_ “Yixing,”  _ she corrects, so Yixing delights her by sucking gently. He switches to the other nipple, sucking from the first moment as one of his hands creeps down to cup her ass before grabbing it lightly.

There’s hardly any better sight, for Yixing, than watching arousal ebb through Yifan’s body, even better than any masterful artwork by Michelangelo or Shen Zhou. Yifan doesn’t ever seem ashamed of showing how much she wants Yixing either, clutching him closer to her chest to keep him there, or even playing with the breast and nipple Yixing’s just freed from the confines of his mouth. She’s so beautiful that Yixing wants to unfurl her over and over again, until her entire body is pulsing with pleasure. 

He decides to busy his hands with pushing her jeans down her legs, kissing down her stomach and remaining around her belly button until two of his fingers can find their way between her legs. She’s not overly wet, yet, so he just rubs against the fabric of her underwear. Her body shudders slightly, arching towards him even more, until she retracts herself and pulls off her underwear, along with the rest of her jeans, shoes, and socks.

She’s totally bare, and he stands and watches as she takes herself to the other side of his desk, leaning back upon it as if to lay down. Yixing takes the thinly veiled hint and moves around until he’s stood before her. When he steps between her legs, she relaxes onto the wooden surface. She’s sprawled out on the desk, and the only thing Yixing can think to do is bow down to bury his face between her thighs. He noses the fleshy lips of her labia apart and presses his tongue into her, being sure to rub his nose gently upwards towards her clit. She’s so sensitive there that she doesn’t like being directly touched, so he applies pressure up and around her clit instead, feeling how she grows warmer and warmer against his flicking tongue.

His arms curl around her thighs, holding them open and resting them over his shoulders, she whimpers a little when he presses his face in more firmly. His fingers caress up the sensitive inner skin of her thighs to the point where her legs reflexively squeeze against where his arms have her. One of her hands immerses itself in his hair again, clasping a fistful of it firmly in between her fingers. She begins to seize up slightly, as if trying to fight an oncoming surge of pleasure within her and Yixing retreats from between her legs. 

He releases her thighs, leaving her lax and panting slightly, but makes sure to shift two of his fingers to slide inside of her and back out, over and over again, whilst he uses his other hand to undo his trousers. It hardly takes any time at all to have his trousers and his own underwear moved around to free his cock. 

Letting go of Yifan completely, Yixing fumbles to get into his bottom drawer and blindly lets his hands search around for a condom, all whilst keeping his eyes on Yifan. She’s tilted her head to look at him, cheeks flush with pink and lips slightly parted. He leans up to kiss her, delving his tongue into her mouth, and she does the same. 

“What’s taking you so long?” Is what she whines when they’ve parted again, “I’m getting cold.”

“I know, I’m sorry… I just… I can’t find a condom.” Yixing glances away from her for a moment to look into his drawer and the noise Yifan lets out can only be read as one of impatience. 

“Hurry up.” It’s almost impossible for Yixing to ignore how Yifan’s started to touch herself, one hand circling around her clit and the other one sending three of her long, slender fingers inside herself. “Just fuck me already.”

“I don’t think I have anything.” Yixing opens his other drawers, quickly rummaging around to see if he can find a single condom. “Fuck, I don’t.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yifan cries out, sitting up and pulling Yixing up from where he’s bent over. “Just fuck me, I don’t care.”

Yifan runs her hands down Yixing’s cock before slowly starting to jerk him off, but Yixing pauses her for a second, looking her in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Yixing, I’m sure,” she sighs against his mouth. “Please, fuck me, Professor.”

Yixing would roll his eyes, but he knows it’d be useless, she knows he likes hearing those words just from the way his cock twitches. Yixing wraps one of his hands around Yifan’s, leaning in towards her as they both guide the head of his cock inside her.

There’s a soft sound that emits from Yifan’s mouth, followed by a garbled profanity from Yixing’s. He can’t quite believe what it feels like to be inside Yifan, especially without a condom on, with the pillowy warmth surrounding him and leaving him stuttering against her collarbones. Her ankles hook around his waist, head thrown back until her hair dangles to touch down on the desk below. 

The wood creaks as they start to move against each other, with the papers Yifan’s sat on ruffling up, but Yixing ignores it as he curls his hips to feel as much of her around him as he can. It’s unfathomable to him to think of why they haven’t done it like this before. With the moans Yifan’s making interspersed with her sharp inhales, Yixing knows she’s just as sensitive as she is to this. Her eyes are lidded as she looks at him, tongue peaking out of her mouth to lick at his lips, as if to coax Yixing even closer to kiss her. 

With a light push, Yixing presses her down onto the desk, kissing her for a short moment before standing up right. He holds her hips then, keeping her in place as he starts to fuck into her, quickening his pace and putting more strength into every move he makes. When his hips meet the stretched muscles of her inner thighs, she jolts upwards, but his hands bring her back into place when he’s drawing out of her. Yifan throws one hand up above her head to clutch at the edge of the desk to try and find some kind of steadiness as Yixing fucks her. Her breasts move in time with his thrusts, only stilling on her chest when she gropes at them to play with her own nipples, and she only stops doing that when Yixing takes over with his mouth.

Her ankles are hooked around him now, freeing his hands from needing to hold her, and he slides one between them to rub with so much pressure against her clit that she cries out. Yixing’s other hand rises to her neck, not to squeeze at it, but to cushion her head. His hips move in a hard and deep rhythm, which Yifan’s pleasure-slacked body seems to receive as a frenzy of bodily delight.

Yixing himself isn’t much better, as he can feel his own pleasure build up inside him, spiking even higher when Yifan switches to grip at his back. Her nails dig in and drag across his skin, contrasting the sensations of euphoria building in Yixing’s body and making his perception to them strike him more keenly. Their bodies move together, plunged into the throes of their hedonism, and the pressure within Yixing mounts almost to the point of no return.

“I’m… I’m close,” Yixing warns, raising his head from her chest to hold his lips against her mouth. “Fuck, Yifan.”

And he’s almost surprised when Yifan’s legs tighten around him, holding him flush to her body until all he can do is grind against her, with her sighing, “It’s okay, Sir, cum inside me.”

Those words, along with his orgasm almost peaking, are the pure bliss to Yixing’s ears that sends him over the edge. He presses as deeply inside her as he possibly can just at the moment his climax peaks, and Yifan releases the most lust-filled noise Yixing’s ever known to fall from her lips. Yixing continues to rub at her clit, only adding to her panting as her chest heaves, until she cums too and he feels her walls pulse around him, as if drawing his cum in deeper. And he groans when he watches her mouth fall open in so much ecstasy that sound escapes her.

Yixing stays inside Yifan until both their bodies stop twitching, and all he can do is tiredly plant himself in his desk chair once he’s withdrawn. It takes a couple of seconds but a slow trickle of his cum follows him, dripping down onto the table beneath Yifan’s hips. Yixing watches it as he catches his breath, and tries to peel off his now sweat-soaked shirt and lift his hips to completely take his slacks and underwear off, knowing they’ll be just as perspiration soiled as his shirt. 

Yifan lifts her head for a moment, when she seems to have recovered a little, to look at Yixing and say, “So, about my essay…”

With a shake of his head, Yixing huffs out a laugh and practically deflates into his chair.

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on _[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/yifan)_ and _[twitter](https://twitter.com/yifantares)_ , if you'd like!


End file.
